Without Sin (22 page)

‘You have today off as well,’ Percy insisted the following morning.

‘But I feel much better.’

‘And you look much better, but I’d be happier if you had at least another day’s rest. We don’t want it turning into a nasty cough.’

Meg giggled. ‘Well, you could always rub my chest for me.’

Percy blinked and stared at her for a moment.

‘I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have said that. It – it was a family joke if anyone got a bad cough. Mam used to rub goose grease on to our chests and –
and—’ She let tears fill her eyes and she turned away, saying in a husky, trembling voice, ‘I forgot where I was for the moment. I’m so sorry.’

Yet again, he patted her shoulder awkwardly. ‘There, there, don’t let it upset you.’

Meg was not upset. She was angry – with herself. She had been too forward, too bold. Percy wasn’t the sort of man she could joke with like that. Not like Isaac Pendleton, she thought
wryly. He’d’ve been only too ready to take her up on the offer! The thought made her shudder. She still could not believe that her pretty young mother could become the mistress of such
a man.

‘You stay here – just for today, at any rate, and we’ll see how you are in the morning.’

‘All right,’ she agreed meekly, but her mind was busy. She’d had a restless night that was not altogether caused by her cold. Nothing had been said about Miss Finch’s
visit either to the shop or to the house. Percy had not remarked on it and Meg had no intention of telling him about either of her visitors. But their remarks, their insinuations, had given her
ideas. Ideas she meant to put into practice that very day.

Percy Rodwell opened the door to his home in the evening and thought he had stepped into the wrong house. An appetizing smell of cooking drifted into the hallway from the
kitchen and through the open door into the front room he could see a fire blazing in the grate. On the small table in the window stood a vase of flowers. Percy blinked and reeled, momentarily
unsteady on his feet. It felt as if he had stepped back into his childhood and he half expected, when he stepped into the kitchen, to see his mother bending down to take a crusty brown loaf out of
the range oven. But, as he pushed open the door, it was Meg who straightened up, her face flushed – not with fever now but from the heat of the oven. In her hands she held a tin of sizzling
roast potatoes. A stew bubbled in a pan on the hob.

‘Oh,’ she said, catching sight of him. ‘I’d hoped to have it all on the table by the time you came in. But it’s all nearly ready. Sit down.’

‘Meg – what . . .?’

‘I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done for me. All I could find was a bit of stewing beef and a few vegetables. But there was flour and fat in the pantry and some fallen apples.
Did someone give you those?’

Mesmerized, Percy nodded absently, but he did as she bade him and sat down at the table.

‘I’ve made some pastry so there’s apple pie for afters.’

In a dream, Percy picked up his knife and fork and began to eat. Then, blinking as if to bring himself back to reality, he said, ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t asked how you’re
feeling.’

‘Much better,’ she said, sitting down opposite him. ‘How was your day? Have you been busy in the shop?’

‘Mm,’ he nodded, his mouth full. ‘Two or three ladies came in and asked specifically for you.’

Meg looked up at him, her eyes wide. ‘Did they really?’

‘Mm,’ he said once more and did not speak again until his plate was clear. ‘My, that was good. I never seem to get my stews to taste like that. Whatever do you put in it to
give it that . . . that . . . ? Oh, I don’t know. It’s just got a special taste.’

‘Ah,’ said Meg, gathering the dirty plates together and bending down to bring the apple pie out of the oven to the table. ‘Now that would be telling. We women have to have our
little secrets,’ she said coyly. ‘Or you’d be able to do very nicely without us, wouldn’t you?’

Percy smiled. ‘I don’t think so, Meg,’ he murmured appreciatively as the smell of hot apple pie assailed his nostrils. To his surprise he heard himself saying rashly, ‘I
don’t think I’d even want to try to manage without you now.’

Meg hid her triumphant smile. ‘I feel so much better, I’ll come back to work tomorrow. I can’t have my lady customers kept waiting.’

‘There’s no hurry. I told them you might not be back until the beginning of next week. They all said they’d call again then.’

Carefully, Meg said, ‘So – er – who were these ladies?’

Percy wrinkled his forehead as he recalled their names. ‘Miss Robinson – you know, the fussy little spinster?’ Meg nodded. ‘She didn’t want me to serve her. She was
blushing as she came into the shop, and when she saw there was only me behind the counter she got very flustered.’

Meg laughed. ‘Oh, poor thing. Who else?’

‘Let me see – Mrs Newton and – oh yes – there was that young woman who’s the schoolmistress at the – erm – at the workhouse.’

Meg’s head shot up. ‘Louisa? Miss Daley? She came into the shop?’

‘Yes. She asked for you, but she didn’t say why she wanted you. I supposed it was to buy something.’

‘Maybe,’ Meg said thoughtfully.

‘Unless, of course, it was a message from your mother.’

Meg’s mouth hardened. ‘Whatever it was, I don’t want to know. I don’t want messages from my mother and I certainly don’t want to see Louisa Daley.’

‘Why? I thought she seemed quite a nice girl. The sort that might be a nice friend for you.’

‘I thought she was my friend – once upon a time. But she betrayed me.’

‘Betrayed you?’

Meg bit her lip, wondering whether she dared to confide in Percy. Was she taking too much of a risk? Would he believe her or begin to think that perhaps his fiancée was right after
all?

She took a deep breath and the words came spilling out. She told him how she had been left in charge of Betsy and all that had happened.

‘She accused me – me! – of taking her father’s watch,’ Meg finished indignantly and her eyes blazed. ‘And no one –
no one
– accuses me of
theft.’

In the face of her vehemence, Percy blinked.

The following morning, Percy said, ‘Why don’t you have another day off?’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘It – it was rather nice to come home to a warm
house and a meal ready and waiting.’

Meg laughed. ‘I’ll do the same for you tonight. It’ll be a pleasure, but—’ She bit her lip.

‘But what?’ Percy asked anxiously.

‘There’s not much food left and – I’m sorry – but I haven’t any money—’

‘Oh, good heavens. What am I thinking of? Wait a moment . . .’

He went back up the stairs and Meg heard him opening a drawer in the chest in his bedroom. Moments later he returned and pressed several coins into her hand. ‘Buy whatever you need.’
He put his hand up. ‘Don’t tell me. It’ll be a nice surprise.’

‘Is there anything you don’t like?’

Percy wrinkled his brow. ‘I can’t think of anything. I’m not a fussy eater.’

They smiled at each other.

Percy opened the door of his house eagerly that night. For the first time in years – not since before his mother had died – it felt like a home. He sniffed the air
appreciatively. Something smelt good, but he couldn’t decide just what it was . . .

‘Roast pork, sage and onion stuffing and apple sauce,’ Meg told him moments later as he stood in the kitchen watching her. ‘I used the rest of those fallen apples.’ Her
cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright. And, he realized with a jolt, she looked completely at home in his tiny kitchen.

‘Sit down. I won’t be a minute . . .’

‘Not before I’ve put this outside the back door to chill.’ Percy smiled as he produced a bottle of white wine from the bag he was carrying.

Meg’s eyes widened. ‘Oh! How very grand we’ll be tonight. I know the posh folks drink wine, but I never have. Oh, Mr Rodwell, what a treat.’

‘Please,’ he said hesitantly, ‘won’t you call me Percy?’ Then he added hastily, ‘Not in the shop, of course, but when we’re here. On our own.’

Meg’s green eyes sparkled and Percy Rodwell was lost.

‘Hello, lad, what yer doing here?’ Albert Conroy greeted Jake on Sunday afternoon as he opened the gate for him. ‘Can’t keep away from us, eh?’ He
laughed wheezily.

Jake grinned. Like Meg, he had always had time for the old man whom many ignored. ‘Something like that, Albert. You all right?’

‘Oh ar, same as ever,’ Albert said, resigned to his lot. He would never leave the workhouse, but there was no use in railing against what he couldn’t change. He closed the gate
and limped painfully back to the door of his lodge. ‘Like a cuppa, would yer? Kettle’s on the boil.’

Jake laughed. ‘I don’t remember a time when your kettle wasn’t on the boil. Go on then.’ Still chuckling, Jake followed the old man into the tiny room that was old
Albert’s home. Carefully, Jake laid a package on the table. ‘I’ve brought you some eggs. Don’t worry, I ain’t pinched ’em. The missis said I could.’

Tears filled Albert’s eyes. ‘Aw, lad, that’s kind of yer. A’ yer sure? Don’t you want to give ’em to – well – to someone else?’ It was a
long time since anyone had thought enough about him to bring him a gift.

Jake wrinkled his brow, pretending to think. ‘No, can’t say as I do. Go on, you daft old devil. I brought ’em for
you
.’

Albert sniffed and touched the package with trembling fingers. ‘Thanks, lad.’

Moments later they sat together, Albert in the dilapidated armchair, Jake perched on a stool with a loose leg. Jake stirred the tea in the cracked mug, looking down into the swirling, dark brown
liquid.

‘Penny for ’em, lad.’

There was a silence before Jake said dolefully, ‘I don’t reckon they’re worth a penny, Albert.’

‘Wha’s up? Don’t tell me you’re missing this place.’

Jake smiled, but it wasn’t his usual wide grin. ‘No. I miss some of the people, but no, not the place, even though it’s the only home I’ve ever had.’

‘Are they good to you, these folks you’re working for?’

Jake nodded. ‘Aye, the mester’s all right. She’s a bit of a tartar, but Meg warned me about her . . .’ His voice trailed away and Albert watched his face.

‘Ah,’ the old man breathed. ‘It’s that lass, is it?’

Jake’s head shot up. ‘What?’ He met Albert’s steady, knowing gaze and realized denial was futile. He glanced away and sighed as he nodded. ‘I don’t know what
to do. She won’t listen to me.’

‘How d’yer mean?’

Jake sighed. ‘She’s run away from here—’

‘I know that. I saw her the night she came back when he –’ Albert jerked his thumb towards the master’s room – ‘was going to lock her in the punishment room.
She took off then and I ain’t seen or heard from her since.’

There was a long silence between them until Jake blurted out, ‘It’s because of her mother. Meg doesn’t . . . approve of her mother being with old man Pendleton.’

Albert shrugged philosophically. ‘Can’t blame the poor woman for seeking a bit of comfort. Had enough sorrow in her life just lately to turn her mind, if you ask me.’ He
sniffed. ‘I like that little lass, but I reckon she ought to be grateful that someone’s being kind to ’er mam and looking after her. And he does look after his lady friends, yer
know. I’ll say that for ’im.’ Albert sniffed. ‘Though I ain’t got much else to say in his favour.’ There was a pause before the older man pressed Jake to say
more. ‘Why’s she so upset about it?’

‘She – she says it’s not how her mother brought her up. Meg feels betrayed, I suppose.’

‘Aye, aye,’ the old man murmured. ‘And so soon after her dad ran off. Must have hit the lass hard. They’ve both brought her up to believe one thing, then she sees
’em doing the opposite. Both of ’em. It’s a lot for a young lass to come to terms with. And, aye, mebbe to forgive an’ all. You’ll have to understand that,
Jake.’

‘I do, but – but she’s doing the same thing herself now.’ His mouth tightened. ‘Talk about pot calling kettle black!’ When Albert looked puzzled, Jake went
on. ‘She’s gone to work for Mr Rodwell, the tailor and – and she’s moved into his house.’ Jake’s face was tortured as he added, ‘She’s living with
him, Albert. She’s
living
with him.’

The old man could find nothing to say except, ‘Aw, lad. Aw, lad.’

‘How is she? Have you seen her? Where is she living?’ The anxious questions tumbled out of Sarah’s mouth.

Jake perched nervously on the edge of the sofa in Isaac Pendleton’s office. The only occasions he had ever visited this room were when he had been in trouble. Usually such visits had ended
with a thrashing or being sent to the punishment room across the yard, ‘for his own good’ as Isaac always put it.

‘It hurts me far more than it hurts you, boy.’ Isaac had always made a great play of being in loco parentis. ‘You have no father to guide you and so it falls to me to fill that
role. It pains me, really it does, boy, but if you’re to make something of yourself in this world then one day you will thank me.’

At the time Jake couldn’t imagine that he would ever have reason to thank the big man who seemed to wield the cane with such relish.

‘It’s what your father – whoever he was – would have wanted me to do. He’d have wanted me to make a man of you.’ And the cane would swish through the air,
landing on the thin trousers that offered no protection. The only solace Jake had ever had was that after Isaac’s ‘ministrations’, Miss Pendleton would seek him out and clasp him
tightly to her ample bosom, promising that she would have words with her brother. ‘He’s too harsh on you,’ she would sob, stroking Jake’s hair. ‘You must try to be a
good boy and not make him angry. He thinks it’s his job to mould you into a fine young man. And you will be a fine young man, Jake. Oh, you will be.’ And she would hug him all the
tighter.

It was not lost on Jake that neither Letitia nor Isaac ever made reference to his mother. Perhaps, he thought sorrowfully, a young, unmarried girl giving birth in the workhouse and then dying
and leaving her child to their tender mercies was not even worth a second thought.

‘Is she all right?’ Sarah prompted again.